


the vial

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But He Does Not Want To Talk About It, But a Bit Happier, Extra Treat, Impossible Penetration Made Possible, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-29 20:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: "So, you and my brother," Loki starts out of nowhere.





	the vial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).

> Happy RMSE, tdc!

Rocket flops over, a sigh whistling through his teeth. The sheets are soft against his naked fur.

Under the roll of the ceiling fan, Rocket’s mouth-wet cock cools. Aftershocks keep his shaft at half-mast as his tail twitches against the bedspread.

He grunts when Thor’s nose nudges his side. Thor's breaths are hot next to the relief of the fan. Rocket doesn’t bother lifting his head. He won’t be able to see any action past the swell of Thor’s belly.

Instead, Rocket sinks back to watch Thor’s face. Thor's cheeks bunch chipmunk-style with effort. By the shiver in his snarled lips, he’s getting close.

“Want me to, uh-” Rocket’s rare generosity ends before it begins. He doesn’t have anything to offer. Not his mouth or body on Thor’s dick, Rocket isn’t big enough for that.

Rocket could fuck him. Sort of. Through trial and error, they've learned that one of Rocket’s arms is like a cock on the small side for Thor. But the motion is weird. Two awkward attempts led to Rocket calling it quits. “It’s like I'm using you for a punching bag,” Rocket grumbled back then. Thor laughed along, but Rocket knew the decision disappointed him.

Rocket can do other stuff. Suck on one of Thor’s swollen tits. Nibble on his neck. Splay across his belly so his tail swishes over Thor’s cock. But it’s all...whatever. It’s window dressing.

“This is fine,” Thor mumbles. He kisses Rocket’s furry hip.

‘This is fine’? Seriously?

Wet sounds increase in tempo past the rise and fall of Thor’s belly. Rocket fingers Thor’s sweat-damp hair away from his face. He gets Thor’s nose in his ribs for his trouble. Thor's beard is loose today, rasping across Rocket’s side.

Sometimes Thor groans when he makes it through. Once or twice, he’s cursed, Rocket likes that. This time, Thor only manages a grunt. It’s a little bit of a let down. Thor’s breath catches in his throat, and his movements stutter to a stop.

Thor’s weight melts into the mattress after. His mouth goes slack, post-orgasm breaths puffed into Rocket’s fur. They stay like this for awhile. Thor’s exhales even to a drowsy rhythm. He looks calm, on the edge of sleep.

Until he abruptly pushes himself up. “I’ll clean up,” Thor slurs, climbing from the sheets.

“Need help?” Rocket asks. He knows what the answer will be.

Thor glances back over one massive shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute,” he says.

Rocket's gaze stays on Thor’s thick back. The swell of fat around his hips and the girth of his thighs. A pang hits Rocket’s chest. He does his best to shake it away.

Of course Thor doesn’t need Rocket's help in the washroom. Just like Thor doesn’t need his help to get off. Thor doesn’t need Rocket for anything, really. Good thing Thor hasn’t realized that yet.

***

The next day, Rocket is in a mood. Naturally, this means he isn't left alone.

He still isn’t sure what to think of Thor’s brother. Avengers crew didn’t seem to know what to think of him either. They weren’t total jerks to the guy. Even Stark shrugged and said, “Welcome back, Reindeer Games.” Whatever that means.

But the captain and hawk kept a wary distance. Natasha made sure the spider kid stayed away too. The dude with the sparkly magic hands looked bemused by Loki's appearance.

Thor’s crew was a little warmer. Val greeted Loki with a smile and, “Lackey’s alive. Imagine that.” Jolly Green gave Loki's shoulder a pat. And Thor, well, Thor hugged his brother so tight Rocket thought he might pop.

After, Loki just pat his brother’s belly. “You never could do anything halfway, could you?”

In the weeks since, the brother’s been a bit...standoffish? He’s been scarce, that’s for sure.

To be fair, it’s been easy to lose track of people since Thanos. New Asgard’s population doubled overnight. There are shelters to build, food to dole out, clothes to gather, a community to support. Every day brings some new excuse to party. A birthday not celebrated in five years, or an anniversary, or renewed betrothal vows.

Rocket shouldn’t be here. There's no more Thanos, and it’s time to get back to his family where he belongs. He thought Thor would come too. Still is, Thor says. Preparations have already begun to turn rulership of New Asgard over to the Valkyrie. “Not your brother?” Rocket asked when Thor told him.

Thor smiled. “I asked. He told me no.” From the little Rocket’s heard about Loki, this seems...weird.

It’s been a few weeks living in this seaside town. Watching people do stuff, build stuff, celebrate stuff. Rocket, the furry freak in the middle of it all, has been counting the seconds until he can leave.

A part of him wonders if Thor will change his mind. He’s got a home here, after all. Thor has his brother, his best friend, and his people back. He’s got closure in New Asgard. What’s waiting for Thor up in the stars? Other than Rocket, which - how important is Rocket next to everything Thor has here?

“My, you look joyous,” Loki greets. Unlike most of New Asgard's simple dress, Loki chooses to keep up appearances as a prince. Or...whatever he is now that he’s turned down the throne. Loki no longer wears the armor he had on when he appeared in the wreckage of battle after Thanos. But he still dresses himself in a regal green cape with all black underneath. Pretty tunic, pretty pants, perfectly shined boots.

The brother doesn’t fool Rocket. Even with his collar pulled up high, Rocket sees the bruises blistering Loki’s neck. It’s how he died, Rocket's heard. Had his neck snapped by Thanos. Now Loki lives, but he still has a ring of purple around his throat. It doesn't hurt, Thor told him. The bruises are just there, like a timestamp. Maybe they will fade the longer Loki exists five years in the future. It’s been weeks so far. They haven’t yet.

“I'm peachy,” Rocket says. “What’s up with you, skim?” Making fun of a guy for being killed by Thanos? Not cool. Making fun of a guy for being the color of milk? Fair.

Loki actually chuckles before (crap) taking a seat next to Rocket. “I’m so glad you asked,” Loki says. “I'm better now that I've had time to adjust. You and I, we’ve needed some weeks to settle in.”

“I ain’t settling,” Rocket mutters. “I’m visiting. Making sure everything's good. Then I’m out.”

“Back to that misfit crew of yours, right.” Loki’s smiles have a way of looking like knives in the back. “My brother was telling me all about that. Not to mention his delightful plan to join you and your crew on this...mission? This...what are you doing exactly?”

Rocket shrugs. “Stealing stuff,” he says. “Pissing people off.”

“Right.” Loki sniffs. “Two of your many talents, I’m sure.”

“Look, I was kinda in the middle of something here,” Rocket tells him. Which is true. He was in the middle of stewing in silence. Seems better than wherever this conversation is going. "So you should-"

“I was hoping to take you up on one of your other talents,” Loki cuts in. “A stop at Helga’s pub down the block? My treat?”

It's a bad idea. A real bad idea.

But...free drink.

“Whatever,” Rocket says. He climbs off his seat and lets Loki lead the way to the door.

'Down the block' is as misnomery as a misnomer gets. For one, Helga's pub isn't down, it's up. They scale a green, grass-covered hill. It's warm in New Asgard, but breezes from the coast temper even their warmest days.

For another, there are no 'blocks' in New Asgard. At best, there are stones laid out to help with footing on less steady terrain. Grass thinned by repeated footsteps mark the path up to Helga's. It takes three of Rocket's steps to match one of Loki's. Rocket scowls and rushes to keep up.

On the bright side, once they arrive Loki isn't quick to continue their conversation. He orders Rocket an ale and himself wine without asking what Rocket wants first. By now, Helga and her staff know to give Rocket a smaller glass with their usual big mugs. Loki pours Rocket's first round from one to the other. Much as Rocket hates special service, he also hates looking like a jackass trying not to spill.

They drink in silence for awhile, super weird but not unwelcome. Loki is a sipper, where Rocket prefers swigging. It's a trait Rocket and Thor share, and leads to Rocket being drunk under a table more than once. One of these days he's taking Thor down.

'One of these days,' like he and Thor have a lot of days left together.

"So, you and my brother," Loki starts out of nowhere. It's like he's in Rocket's head. With Loki's mystical crap, maybe he is.

Rocket glares up at him. "What about us?"

"I mean, even you must admit it's rather unusual." Loki covers his smile with the rim of his glass. "_I_ certainly don't think there's anything wrong with it. One of my considerable power knows that appearances are simply that. But still! It's quite the odd case. When did you decide you had a thing for the bare skin type?"

"A thing?"

"There's no shame in it," Loki assures Rocket, in a tone that says there's plenty of shame in it. "Big strong beast like Thor. Royalty to boot. And richer than even the most successful of space thieves-"

"Are you accusing me of something?" Rocket grumbles. "If you are, spit it out. This drink's getting real low." He drains the rest of his glass and hoists the mug to pour more. Only a few drops of ale wind up on the counter.

Loki watches Rocket with the boredom of a rowdy kid stuck at school. He sets his wine on the counter. "What in all the Nine are you so miserable about?" he asks.

"Not sure what a Nine is, but your face to start."

"You've spent the past three weeks sulking about like a drowned cat," Loki says. "Perhaps I'm uninformed, as one recently returned from beyond the veil, but I can't fathom why. Your crew returned. You have pointless missions awaiting you. And you have Asgard's soon to be former king tied to you like some lovesick maiden. Yet you're ghastly to be around."

‘Ghastly’ is a first, Rocket has to give him that. "Yeah well, you won't hurt my feelings if you're sick of my company, pal."

"You're utterly miserable!" Loki continues, like Rocket hasn't said a word. "Which means my pathetic brother is miserable. Which means I am reaching a level of annoyance not crossed since before my tragic demise."

Rocket huffs. "Thor ain't miserable," he mutters. "What's Thor got to be miserable about? He's got this place and all his people and _you_ and his friends and stuff. Thor's fine. He's right where he wants to be." As hot as Rocket's temper is, his voice comes out quiet.

At least Rocket still has one thing to kindle his anger. He spins around. “You know what? Fuck you,” Rocket snaps at Loki. “What, you’re Thor’s bro so I have to care what you think? You ain’t been around for five years, pal. You’ve got no idea what stuff’s like! So screw you. You don’t know me, and I sure as hell don’t know you.”

They’ve earned some attention from the meager attendance at Helga's. Makes sense, prince of Asgard getting shouted at by some trash panda. Rocket drains the rest of his cup and waits on whatever response is coming. Gods must do all kinds of freaky shit when they’re mad. And Loki’s a shapeshifter. What will he do, turn into Thor’s old hammer and bludgeon Rocket over the head?

Oddly, Loki doesn’t look mad. He just stares at Rocket like Rocket has something on his face.

Rocket should go. Actually, Rocket should shoot the smug bastard between the eyes. But since Thor may take issue with that, Rocket should go with the second-best option. “What?” he barks instead.

Loki’s stare takes on a more thoughtful softness. “Stay,” he says. “I’ll buy us another round.”

Hell no. No fucking way.

“Better be something stronger,” Rocket grumbles.

***

Rocket stays for three more rounds. Conversation strays from Rocket’s mood and Thor. Instead, Rocket tells Loki how he came to meet the rest of his crew. Xandar. The Klyn. The power stone.

Loki tenses when Rocket mentions Nebula and Gamora. “I suppose everyone can change if time permits it,” Loki muses. He doesn’t explain, and Rocket doesn’t push for more.

Loki tells Rocket about life on Asgard. He talks about the golden palace, the mountains, the rivers, and gardens that were once his mother’s. He talks about the training yards and the great battles. He talks about growing up with Thor and how aggravating his older brother was. Rocket has to laugh. Loki exaggerates his stories, but they sure sound like a younger, stupid version of Thor.

On the third round, Loki tells Rocket about Ragnarok. His sister freed from imprisonment. The destruction of Asgard by the fire demon Surtur. Rocket tells Loki about life after the Snap. How he spent most of it running ops wherever Nat told him and Nebula to go. How Thor spent it holed up in New Asgard drunk as fuck with his video games. Oh yeah, and with Korg and Miek. Fuck those guys.

“So, staying away was your solution,” Loki says.

Rocket shrugs. “Some of us had to keep moving. Some of us had to stop.”

To be honest, Rocket still hasn’t made sense of what Thor went through over the past five years. He may never. But it’s the excuse Rocket tells himself for why he never came to visit. What he and Thor have now came rushing back in the aftermath. Intense things Rocket hadn’t felt since five years ago.

Loki nods, glass to his lips. “Is that why you’re using the same excuse now? Some have to keep moving and some have to stop?”

Rocket isn’t expecting the comparison. It makes him go cold. “What do you know about it?” He glares up at Loki.

“Oh, I know plenty,” Loki tells him. “And it’s your decision, of course. But as an outsider, I must say you and my brother are being awfully ridiculous about all this.”

Rocket huffs. “Yeah well, good for you. Maybe,” he hiccups, “Thor’ll get himself in shape once I'm gone, who knows.”

Loki snorts. “I don’t think Thor particularly minds his shape one way or another,” he says.

“Not like that. I mean, he’ll get himself in shape. Him. His head. What he wants. He’ll figure that out.”

“Hm,” Loki muses. Like Rocket, he sinks back, rubbing his chin. “You give my brother far too little credit. And I say that as someone who thinks he’s the greatest imbecile alive.”

“I’m giving him credit,” Rocket says. “Enough to know he’s better off here. He’s got you. He’s got the Valkyrie. He’s got that fancy seer with the gold eyes.”

“Yes,” Loki mutters. “Him.”

“He’s got his home and his people and stuff. That’s a pretty good life.”

“Pretty good,” Loki agrees, though he doesn’t seem convinced.

Rocket shrugs. “Yeah, so.” He nudges his empty cup across the counter. “There you have it,” he mumbles.

“There I have it,” Loki echoes. It’s apparently closing time on this conversation.

After a moment of silence, Loki sets something on the bar. It’s a little vial, no bigger than Loki's thumb. It fills Rocket’s palm, glass with a metal top. A dropper fits to the cap, dipped inside a peach liquid.

“What’s this?” Rocket asks.

“Two drops under the tongue when you next see my oaf of a brother.” Loki grimaces. “And I don’t want to hear a word of it after. Not one single word.” He heads to the door, green cape flapping behind him.

Rocket looks between the vial and the empty pub doorway. “Jackass,” he mutters.

***

Rocket doesn't plan on taking it. He should have left it at the pub or chucked it into the sea. But he pockets the stupid vial. If anything, it'll be proof for Thor that his baby brother still likes poisoning people. (Loki's not the only one who's told Rocket warm childhood stories.)

Rocket is glaring at snow fuzz on the TV when Thor comes lumbering in. It's almost summer, but the guy still has those damn fingerless gloves on. At least he's taken to clothes closer to his size, muscle shirts and slacks that hug his generous curves.

Fuck, he's hot. The realization hits Rocket every time he sees Thor. Pain in his chest always follows.

"There you are!" Thor lights up when he finds Rocket smack in the center of the bed. "A number of the guard said you'd stopped for a drink at Helga's, but when I arrived you were gone."

"Yeah, it was earlier," Rocket tells him. "Had a drink with your bro. Oh, and the cable's out."

"You were with Loki?" Thor's smile takes on a curl of surprise. "That's wonderful! I'd hoped one day you two would connect. What did you-" He turns towards the TV. "Oh come on. The repairman was due out here weeks ago."

"We talked. Past and stuff."

"Oh yes?" Thor smacks the edge of the TV. The snowy lines tilt sideways.

"That did something," Rocket deadpans.

"You would think those who aided in Thanos' demise could receive a single technician in thanks." Thor bends down, grumbling, and taps the cable box. "No embarrassing stories from my youth, I hope?"

"Er, no." Rocket's eyes stick on the view Thor is giving him. Hunched over, Thor's slacks grip his ass like a second skin. "Heard you were kind of a prick though."

"I suppose I can't blame Loki for that- _work_, you blasted thing!"

Thor's diatribe against the unruly cable box continues. Rocket doesn't hear a word. How can he with Thor's body on display like a buffet table?

Rocket is getting stupid thoughts. Thoughts like, maybe Thor won't come with Rocket when it's time to go. Maybe Rocket should ride this out while he's got it.

Thoughts like, Loki is a shifty bastard, but he and Thor get along now. Loki wouldn't poison the freak his bro is screwing, right?

Thoughts like, the vial has to do something bad, or at least humiliating. But what if it's not so terrible?

Thoughts like, fuck it.

Rocket peels the vial out from behind a pillow. Two drops under his tongue. Easy.

He resumes his audience to Thor's fat ass like the cable works after all. It's heavy and begging for bites. Rocket runs an impatient hand down the front of his overalls. He chews back a groan at the hard-on he's already sporting.

"I don't understand…" Thor trails off when he glances over his shoulder.

Rocket gives himself a squeeze through his pants. "Nah, keep going," he purrs. "I'm listening."

"Are you?"

After all this time, Rocket should have his head wrapped around how big Thor is. He’s dropped weight since the final battle with Thanos, but Thor is still heavy around the midsection. His biggest weight gain was in his belly, five years on a booze diet will do that. But his ass is fuller too, and his thighs flood his pants. His shirt swells from the rise and fall of his chest. Rocket licks his lips thinking of the pretty tits it’s hiding.

"By now,” Thor says, “you should know better than to lie to me, sweet rabbit.”

The drop in his volume makes Rocket shiver. “I don’t know, man, I’m kinda slow,” Rocket replies. He peels the top half of his overalls down to his waist.

Weird thing, he can’t remember ever being nervous about Thor seeing all the screws holding him in place. They came together so fast. Now, he lets Thor see everything. The bolts that fasten his collarbone to his chest. The fur thinned out from his belly to his cock from a sewn up scar.

Thor’s tongue darts across his lips. He pulls his fingerless gloves off - he even makes this hot somehow. “I’ll have to bring you up to speed, in that case.” Thor grins in a way that promises death by gratuitously hot sex and peels his shirt over his head.

The first time Rocket saw Thor after five years, the change was a stunner. But a little time and way less stress have given Rocket a new appreciation. There’s _so much_ of Thor now. His belly droops over the waist of his pants. A pink flush warms his breasts.

Holding his gaze, Rocket shimmies the rest of the way out of his overalls. His cock is already stiff with interest. He loops a casual hand around himself.

The groan that bubbles off Rocket's tongue is a surprise even to him. Rocket blinks, shaking in the aftermath. His fuzzy eyes take a second to clear. When they do, he looks at Thor.

Thor is staring at him. His mouth is open, and his good eye has a darkness to it that makes Rocket shudder.

“Did you enjoy these tales of my youth my brother spun for you?” Thor's voice is like melted chocolate. Rocket wishes he could taste it, and every inch of the plump flesh Thor is peacocking in front of him. Thor’s pants snag on his healthy thighs as he removes them.

While Loki talked, Rocket thought of young Thor as an arrogant son of a bitch. He was loud, reckless, and high on himself. But now, Rocket sees the guy differently in his head. Pretty blond hair, young face lit up with his own self-importance. Grinning, full of himself, in the most regal armor Asgard had. Wielding that stupid hammer of his.

Rocket gives himself another squeeze. His thighs rub together restlessly.

“You did,” Thor hums, teeth scraped across his lips. “You enjoyed these tales quite a bit.” Thor’s natural voice is already deep and honey-smooth. It’s unfair when he talks even deeper, arousal turning his words husky and warm.

Thor fishes in the nightstand for oil. Rocket squirms in anticipation. He feels hot all over, throbbing and anxious. The vial? Could it be some kind of aphrodisiac? If so, Rocket’s here for it, weird as it is that Loki gave it to him. If his body is loud enough, he may finally quit thinking for awhile.

Rocket doesn’t want to think. He wants Thor. Now. Right freaking now.

“Shh, it’s alright.” The mattress groans under Thor’s weight. Thor braces hands next to Rocket’s shoulders. The pose makes his chest sag, forming a soft valley between his breasts. “It’s alright,” Thor promises again. “I'll take good care of you.”

Rocket usually isn't a fan of this kind of foreplay. Comfort bullshit tends to bring out Rocket’s indignant side. He may be a weak rodent next to Thor, but he doesn’t need taking care of. He’s pretty good at looking after his own self, thanks.

Tonight, the words make Rocket hips buck off the mattress. He wants Thor to take care of him, or whatever. Rocket wants Thor now.

Thor’s laugh comes out startled and breathy. “Shhh, it’s ok,” he says. Hs lips graze Rocket’s neck and trail to his jaw. Rocket hisses. His body sinks under the weight of Thor’s breasts. They’re like twin pillows sitting on his fur. Rocket squirms, stretching to dig eager hands between them.

“You’re beautiful,” Thor says.

He always starts with something mushy like this. 'Beautiful' or 'Stunning' or 'Wonderful.' Sometimes, lips on Rocket’s fur, Thor just mumbles, “Soft."

Rocket responds in kind. ‘Shut the fuck up’ is a favorite line, or ‘screw you,’ or ‘get on with it.’ Tonight, Rocket gasps “please” and tugs Thor’s hair.

A surprised laugh answers. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you like this!” Thor leans down on his elbows, thumbs grazing Rocket’s neck. Rocket gulps for air. He feels like a dam two seconds from spilling over. Thor is so much on top of him. It’s like Thor’s body wants to swallow him whole.

“Such a needful thing,” Thor purrs. His one-eyed gaze turns towards a shaft no bigger than his pinkie. “Do you want my mouth, rabbit? Or my hands? What is it you’re craving so much?”

“Fuck me.” The words are off Rocket’s tongue before he can think. “_Now_. I need you to-”

“Shhh, of course.” Thor kisses his neck. “Of course.” He kisses Rocket’s chest. “Of course.” Rocket's belly.

Rocket gasps and writhes. His insides are on fire. "_Thor_." The sound of his own whine is a shock. "Come on, I need-"

"I know." Thor's words rumble against Rocket's stomach. "Trust me. I have you."

Thor has him. He has Rocket.

Thor drags a lazy lick up Rocket's cock. His mouth is so big that he can lower on Rocket without his lips ever touching. It's like getting a blowjob that's only blow. A warm exhale and the slow line of Thor's tongue.

The dam breaks. Rocket's body turns to liquid. He is hot all over, shivering, and _wet._ The latter makes his eyes widen. He feels like he's pumped full of Thor's bedside oil. Wet and slack between his thighs, his asshole gaping around nothing.

Thor noses at Rocket's hip. "You like that." He's grinning. "Good. I thought you might."

"Less talking, Thunder," Rocket manages to gasp. "More fucking."

“You’ve got it,” Thor says with a grin that pushes his cheeks into rosy balls. The unmistakable sound of oil sloshes from further down. Rocket knows what it looks like dripping obscenely off Thor's fingers. He shudders.

By now, Rocket is very familiar with what it means to get fucked by Thor. It’s a long, slow process made necessary by the fact that Rocket is the size of a kid’s toy next to Thor. It takes a lot of oil. Gobs and gobs of the stuff, smeared slowly and patiently until Rocket’s little hole decides it’s time to give an inch.

Thor is as hotheaded and impulsive as they come, but with Rocket he’s the embodiment of patience. Thor never seems to tire of stroking Rocket between the legs. Again and again, circle after circle, never once pushing past what Rocket’s body can handle. It’s maddening, and it’s incredible. Caress after caress, Thor nosing at Rocket’s belly, until Rocket’s body gives way and Thor can fill him to the nail. The smile Thor gives Rocket every time is so sappy, Rocket can’t believe he hasn’t smacked the guy for it yet.

After one knuckle, there’s more oil. Lube soaking Rocket’s fur, smearing his tail. Thor can’t get a knuckle in him without a dirty sounding squelch. The sound always makes Thor light up like a carnival.

On and on, gentle nudge after gentle nudge. Thor’s lips against Rocket’s fur, his tongue sneaking a taste of Rocket’s prick.

If Rocket is lucky, Thor will get one whole finger into him before he’s done. One crazy time, Rocket managed to take _two_ fingers. Thor didn’t get to do anything with them. One gentle tip of his wrist, and Rocket was barreling through his orgasm.

Rocket doesn’t think he can be so patient tonight. The thought of Thor’s slow, careful fingering makes him want to tear the fur from his cheeks.

He nearly screams when Thor looks at him, Thor's smile replaced by soft, parted surprise. “What did you do?” Thor asks.

“What?” Rocket feels like he’s two seconds away from melting.

“You’re…” Thor blinks. His intrigued gaze sinks again. “How did you…”

A single finger circles Rocket’s hole. Rocket’s wide, gaping, soaked hole. His whole body seizes up. Rocket feels _empty_. He moans so loud that it should embarrass him. But Rocket is too empty for ego, he’s too wet and open, and he needs. He needs now.

"Should I be jealous?" Thor asks. His words are light, but darker curiosity enters his good eye. Rocket would find the look alone hot. The look in combination with Thor's finger inside is almost enough to make Rocket combust.

Thor fills Rocket like it takes no effort. Rocket is used to kneading and prodding, like his ass is baker's dough. He isn't used to Thor taking him with one smooth finger arch. Rocket groans through grit teeth. It isn't enough! He pushes down on Thor's finger, trying to force more pressure. His only relief is the scrape of Thor's knuckles against his backside.

"You're so relaxed," Thor marvels. "How in the Nine did you manage this?"

"Can we wait on the goddamn tutorial until after?" Rocket's retort comes out rushed and desperate. He wriggles as much of his weight as he can on Thor's hand. It's like he's spilling everywhere, a pitcher knocked on its side.

"Norns." Thor seems to think now is a good time to laugh. "You're so wet!" He sounds delighted.

Rocket can't see what's happening, but he can feel it. Thor's hand, already wet with lubricant, drips now with the juice of Rocket's body. Thor's finger lolls about lazily in the liquid heat. If Thor were closer, Rocket would stab him in the face.

Thor asks, "Is your kind prone to heats like this?" His words nearly trip over themselves in excitement.

Rocket answers with his waist jutted high and blatant off the mattress. If he tries to reply in words, they’ll all be curses.

"Alright," Thor soothes with a startled chuckle. "Alright. Here. If this is too much…" He eases a second finger inside.

It's not too much, it isn't enough. Rocket's body gives in a way it never has before. There is no resistance to being stretched, no twinge of pain or tightness. Rocket's body wants Thor to fill him, and wonders why there isn't more. It isn't enough. Rocket has too much space.

“This doesn’t hurt?” Thor asks. His full attention is on Rocket’s face, long hair dangling about his cheeks. Thor crooks his fingers cautiously.

Rocket moans, “More.”

Thor’s tongue darts out, turning his lips wet and shiny. His fingers scissor with care, splaying out inside Rocket. Rocket can feel them past the gush of wetness inside. He scratches at the bedsheets. Need huffs off his lips.

Thor’s lips stroke his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “You never listen to me, but it’s true.” Every movement of his mouth makes Rocket’s vision more hazy.

With care, Thor eases his fingers back, and thrusts them in again. Teeth grit, Rocket bumps his snout against Thor’s cheek. “Told you to fuck me,” he snarls. His voice cracks down the middle.

“I am,” Thor swears, smiling. “This is just, it’s quite the surprise, you must admit-”

“Told you to fuck me," Rocket barks, "not _finger_ me, you idiot."

Thor's hand stills, and he even lifts his head from Rocket’s. The lack of contact makes Rocket tremble. “Rabbit.” Thor speaks slowly. “You know I can’t-”

“I’m telling you to,” Rocket says.

“You know-”

“I don’t know nothing.” Rocket’s protest jumbles out in a frantic spill. “It’s not enough, man. I’m losing my _fucking mind_, it’s _not enough_!”

“Alright.” Thor's eyes, real and fake, are wide. With care, he withdraws his fingers. Rocket is painfully empty. “We'll try, ok? I only, I don’t want you to...”

Thor trails off without finishing his sentence, and then he sits there. He sits! Like Rocket hasn’t just bleated out his needs like some stupid sheep. “I swear, I’m finding someone else to make good if you don’t fucking _move_.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Thor says. The words are calm but dangerously quiet. Thor’s eyes narrow. He reaches for the oil.

Thor's gaze stays on Rocket as he seats himself against the headboard. He’s a massive sprawl like this, belly sitting on his thighs. His breasts sink low, hair tousled around his shoulders. His thighs spread comfortably to permit room for his cock. He’s thick and flushed, shaft curved up his belly.

With dripping fingers, Thor begins to stroke himself. This is a part Rocket doesn’t get to see much, at least not from this vantage point. Thor gets off while he’s pleasuring Rocket or right after, face tucked against Rocket’s side.

Now, every inch of Thor is on display. Thor pumps himself in a deep rhythm that makes his head sink against the wooden board. His low-lidded gaze lingers on Rocket, even the fake eye seems to burn with hunger. Rocket reads hunger all over Thor's face - in the redness on his cheeks and the moist touch to his lips.

With wobbly limbs, Rocket climbs onto Thor’s thigh. Thor’s belly pulses in and out with every husky breath. Rocket's tail twitches against Thor’s side. Thor’s fingers clench around himself.

“Sit back more,” Rocket tells him. Thor does as instructed. He sinks back at a steeper incline, heavy chin tucked against his chest. His breasts bunch up like this, shoved higher by the press of his belly. A soft, pretty line forms between them.

Rocket scales up to settle on top of Thor’s stomach. At this angle, it’s easier to balance himself, hands tucked in generous skin. His feet catch on a fold, and he eases down, anticipating.

“Slow,” Thor breathes. He sets a sticky hand on Rocket’s back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Fuck you, Thunder,” Rocket grumbles.

He gasps at a sudden nudge against his backside. Thick and warm and hard, so damn hard. Thor is huge. Rocket’s known this, obviously, but feeling it is something different. It’s like Rocket's body has to recreate itself to fit him, splitting wider and sewing back together again. Should be impossible without a hell of a lot of pain.

But it isn’t. Rocket sinks down, and something...changes. The pressure is intense, mind-shattering, too much. Then it isn’t. Rocket gives, opened like a bud in spring. The head of Thor’s shaft fills him up. Thor’s chest heaves with a gasp. His oil-slick hand squeezes Rocket’s back. Stroking metal screws Rocket would put a bullet through anyone else for touching.

“Is this too much?” Thor sounds too unsteady to be himself. He blinks down at Rocket. “We can...it’s alright to stop.”

No it isn’t. It definitely is _not_ alright. Rocket’s heart throbs in his chest at the thought. He’s so full, but it still isn’t enough. Stop? Thor must be out of his goddamn mind.

“Oh shit...” It’s a rarity for Thor to slip curses into his repertoire. Rocket would gloat about getting one now if his entire body wasn’t shaking from plunging down on Thor’s shaft.

_Oh shit_ is right in this case. Thor is _gigantic_. Rocket has to catch himself on Thor’s thighs to keep from impaling himself completely. His legs ache from their wide stretch. It’s like Thor is reaching into Rocket's insides, staking claim on every inch.

“You've gotta help,” Rocket pants. He hoists himself up enough to sink back down. Pressure sizzles across every nerve in Rocket’s body. He feels like a geyser gushing out, wet and overwhelmed.

Thor’s fingers slide into the tuff of Rocket’s neck. His curled hand digs so hard, Rocket’s brain shorts out. He registers Thor’s hips, heavy and wide, jutting up. The friction is incredible. Rocket feels Thor inside him every time he breathes. It’s like Thor is in his stomach, in his lungs, _everywhere_.

“How? Thor croaks. He digs fingers deeper into Rocket’s fur.

Rocket growls against his stomach, the sound tapering on a bite. Thor’s skin is plump under his teeth. Thor's restless hand scrapes his own neck and slides to squeeze the generous swell of his chest. His face screws with pleasure more intense than Rocket can ever remember before.

Rocket sees everything differently. Feels everything differently. There is a shiver in Thor’s waist every time he moves. He combs heavy fingers down Rocket’s back, and Rocket arches in encouragement.

This? Rocket can’t lose this. What the hell’s he been thinking?

Rocket clamps teeth down on Thor’s belly. He sucks and worries, until a sound tears out of Thor that Rocket can’t remember hearing before. Strangled and hungry. Thor’s skin blisters red under Rocket’s mouth.

The curve of Thor’s stomach rubs against Rocket’s hard-on. They’re way past the point of shame. Rocket rubs right back. Good feelings burst through him like haphazardly placed firecrackers. He feels the crest, a tremor tearing through his body. Black spots swim in front of his eyes.

Maybe Rocket isn’t built to feel so much.

Rocket lives, though. Which is good. Foggy though he is, he would never forgive himself for missing the sudden stutter of Thor’s thighs. The deepness of Thor filling him. The shudder that shakes Thor’s huge god-body. The way Thor’s belly clenches under Rocket when he can’t hold back any longer.

Thor drains hot and long. His orgasm leaves him breathless, makes his fingers shake against Rocket’s fur. “Rocket...oh gods,” Thor moans. Rocket has never heard anything hotter.

Thor slithers down the bed until he’s lying on his back. Rocket rests like an overindulged cherry on top of him.

It takes a good few minutes for Rocket to make himself move. He forces his liquid legs to kick out so he can claw his way off Thor’s cock. Rocket feels like a balloon filled all the way to the brim. Crawling up Thor’s body makes wetness trickle down his thighs. Rocket's fur is a mess, matted in various spots by who knows what. Lube. Cum. The weird moisture his own body decided to produce on its own.

When Rocket makes it to Thor’s face, Thor is still breathing hard. Thor turns his groggy head and kisses Rocket between the ears. Rocket tucks himself across Thor’s collar, face buried against his cheek.

“So good,” Rocket mumbles.

“Mmm,” Thor agrees. Or maybe it’s the only sound he can make.

With a smile, Rocket takes in the long view of Thor’s body. The jiggle of his stomach as he breathes. The swollen red mark that will take time to fade, even with Thor's fancy god-powers.

“You’re still coming with me, Thunder,” Rocket says. “When it’s time. I want you to.”

“Mmm,” Thor answers. His lips touch the top of Rocket’s head.

Rocket lets his eyes close. For now, it’s good enough.

***

“Hey.”

The boredom with which Loki flicks a look down at Rocket seems in character for the guy. He’s sitting at a table at Helga’s, nursing a glass in his typical too-slow-for-enjoyment way.

Rocket glares at Loki pointedly. Loki’s expression changes. “Oh no,” he says, rising from his seat. “No, no, no.”

“What was that?” Rocket demands.

Loki starts for the door. Rocket follows in hot pursuit. “That vial you gave me. Where’d you get it from? Did you make it? What’s in it?”

“I told you,” Loki snarls over his shoulder. “Not a word. Not one single word.”

“Did you know what it would do?” Rocket asks louder.

Loki doesn’t hold the door. Rocket catches it before it crashes on him. “Why’d you give it to me?” He rushes to keep up with Loki’s long legs. Damn Asgardians and their stupid height. “Did you know Thor wanted that?”

“I’m quite happy not knowing what my brother wants in _any capacity_.” Loki retreats faster.

Rocket goes down to all fours, scrambling after him. “But why’d you give it to me?” he presses. “Hey, were you planning that? Why the hell would you even - what would make you think we needed it?”

“_Why_ are you so fast, you little beast?”

With a scoff, Loki snaps his fingers. Suddenly, he’s gone. Poof, just like that. Rocket freezes in place. There is no sign of Loki whatsoever.

“Freaking witch,” Rocket grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

Rocket can’t see anyone, but he clearly hears a cross, “_Not_ a witch, rabbit.” From...somewhere.

Rocket jumps and spins around, glaring at open air. Luckily, there’s no one else on this hill to see him making a fool out of himself.

“What the hell was that!?” he shouts. This time no one answers.

Rocket huffs, annoyed hands on his hips. Apparently, asking where he can get more of that vial will have to wait too.

*The End*


End file.
